


I'm Not Scared

by PumpkinDoodles



Series: Hey, Pumpkin! Halloween Fics [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Darcy doesn't like haunted houses, F/M, Halloween fics, TripleAgent!Rumlow, tumblr Halloween prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26262049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Darcy usually doesn't mind being a third wheel on Jane's dates. But she should have said no to the private school horror house.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow
Series: Hey, Pumpkin! Halloween Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907872
Comments: 54
Kudos: 269





	1. How Bad Could It Be?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scarletnerd05](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletnerd05/gifts), [ArtemisGarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisGarden/gifts).



> *I own nothing! Based on this tumblr prompt: Character A and Character B are both third wheels and decide to walk through the haunted manor together. Come to find out, they’re both scaredy cats and end up practically crawling into each others arms at every jump scare despite not knowing one another very well at all.

“Are you scared?” Darcy asked, as they stood in line at the hell house. She glanced tentatively at the man next to her. She hated haunted houses; she’d agreed to go to this one as a lark, because Jane and Jack had never been to one. Brock Rumlow grimaced at her.

“I’m not scared,” he said. He smirked. “Maybe of that PDA fest up there.” Ahead of them, Jane Foster was tucked under Jack Rollins’ arm, chatting happily with Sharon Carter and Maria Hill. Both couples kept stopping for kisses. Jane was dating Jack now that she and Thor were on a break. That left Darcy as the third wheel. She was fine with being the third wheel, most of the time. But not tonight. “Are you scared or something?” Rumlow asked, breaking her train of thought.

“Yes,” Darcy admitted. “I  _ hate  _ these places. I don’t like people jumping out at me, you know?”

“It’s just kids in red makeup, don’t worry,” Rumlow said. He looked at her, grinning. “I’ll protect you, Lewis.”

“You’ll protect me?” Darcy said, torn between a weird feeling of gratitude and surprise at his machismo.

“Sure,” he said. “Federal agent, remember. I jump outta planes for a living. Before they pulled Cap out of the ice, I was the baddest guy on STRIKE.”

“Okay,” Darcy said skeptically. 

“What?” Rumlow said.

“Wasn’t Natasha on a STRIKE team?” she said archly.

“That’s why I said baddest guy,” Rumlow said cheerfully. They moved as the line went forward. “So, don’t worry, you’re gonna be fine.” He looked at the building in front of them. It was a normally-shuttered strip mall. “I mean, isn’t this a Christian high school project?”

“You really don’t know what Christian high schoolers are like, do you?” Darcy said. 

“Hell no,” he said. “But I got a flask in my pocket, don’t tell Jesus.”

“Very funny,” Darcy said, feeling a swell of nervous anxiety. It must’ve shown on her face, because Rumlow slung an arm around her and noisily smacked a kiss on the top of her head. “Hey! What are you doing to my hair?” Darcy said, as he laughed. 

“You’ll be all right,” he whispered. “I gotcha.” 

She wondered just how bad it was going to be as they stepped into the darkened building. There was ominous, thudding music.

* * *

“Motherfucker,” Rumlow said loudly in her ear, as the guy covered in gore lunged out at them right at the curve in a narrow hallway. “Oh shit, oh shit.” He’d moved to step in front of Darcy as the guy waved a knife in their direction. “Shit,” he repeated. “You okay?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Darcy said, too scared to talk much. 

“Get the fuck back,” Rumlow said to gore covered guy and he shuffled backwards, moaning. She could barely move her legs. She’d started freaking out almost immediately; Rumlow had been cool for fifteen minutes, but the combination of a snake-themed room and several of the sin-themed ones had startled him out of his composure. Darcy didn’t like snakes, either. Both of them had bolted and somehow lost the rest of the group. “We’re gonna get through this,” Rumlow told her. “Just look at your feet.” He was holding her arm in a vise-like grip.

“Yeah,” Darcy whispered, throat dry from yelling. They kept walking. She kept her eyes on her feet. 

“What the--?” Rumlow said, as they went through a room where a girl lay bloodied in a hospital bed.

“Don’t ask,” Darcy said grimly. She was distracted by looking at him and didn’t see the man dressed as a doctor until he shuffled towards them, scalpel held aloft. When he made a noise, Darcy jumped, spun around, and did something instinctive: she punched him in the face with an inchoate yell. “Ahhh!” Darcy screamed as her ring connected with his chin. He went down with a  _ thud.  _ A split second later, it dawned on her that she’d probably punched a teenager or a college student in the face.

“Fuck,” Rumlow said from somewhere behind her.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, so, so, sorry,” Darcy said.

“S’okay,” the guy said, rubbing his face. He reached for something. A walkie-talkie. “I got punched again,” he said into the small square box. He sounded young, she realized. It crackled back at him.

“First-aid coming,” someone said on the other end. People were filling into the room, stopping, and then moving out in confusion. 

“Shit,” Rumlow said. “You got a fucking right hook, Lewis.”

“Shhh,” Darcy said. “Don’t say fuck.”

“What?” Rumlow said. 

“Christian program,” she reminded him quietly. “He probably doesn’t like language.”

“He’s got fake body parts all over his white coat,” Rumlow said grimly. He squinted in the flickering lights. “Are those--is that internal organs? Jesus Christ.”

* * *

They’d emerged into the parking lot when Rumlow asked to look at her hand. “This feel okay?” he asked, flexing her fingers. When she nodded, he grinned. “I don’t think you broke your hand.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said, voice still a little croaky. 

“You punched a guy in the face!” he said, starting to laugh. His voice was joyous. “You punched a guy in the fucking face.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” Darcy said, finally cracking up and starting to giggle. She leaned against him, shaking with laughter. He held her for a long moment. “Where’s Jane?” she got out, once her laughter had subsided. When she looked up, he was beaming at her.

“I think those assholes left us,” Rumlow said. “I can’t believe you punched a guy in the face. Shit.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said. A passing group eyed them suspiciously.

“Let’s go get a drink,” Rumlow said, threading his fingers through her non-punching hand. He smirked at her. “Gotta leave your hitting arm free,” he cracked.


	2. A Spook-tacular Séance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! For @artemisgarden/Lady_Layla, "for the haunted house thing Darcy and Brock are totally #10: I’ll bet you I can scare you before you can scare me. Ten bucks?! What do you take me for. Twenty? That’s more like it, loser drives home!" I switched it up a bit to continue this 'verse/AU.

“I can’t believe you talked me into another Halloween thing,” Brock told her, as Darcy stepped out of her car. It had been three days since the hell house thing. They were parked along the road leading towards tonight's event house. She squinted at it in the darkness. She could see lights through the trees. “Besides, I thought you were scared of this shit?” he said, more pointedly.

“This is a benefit séance for puppies and kittens,” Darcy said, tightening her scarf. It was chilly. “It’s a good cause.” Her feet crunched on the gravel as they walked up the long driveway. “And I don’t think it should be scary,” she added.

“Uh-huh,” Brock said. He glanced around as they walked in the dark. “This place is real fucking woodsy,” he said.

“You don’t like woods?” she asked. 

“Nope,” he said. “Get enough of that in the field. Bugs and dirt and shit.” He fell silent. “And that’s best case scenario,” he added.

“What do you mean, best case scenario?” Darcy asked. He glanced at her, then shook his head. “What?” she said. “Tell me.” She stopped and turned to face him. “Are you messing with me, Brock Rumlow?”

“No,” he said. At her look, he raised his hands. “I’m not, I swear to God, Lewis.” He tilted his head. “I’ve just seen some shit that makes running into Thor in the dark sound like a party.”

“Well, I tased him,” Darcy said, starting to walk again. “So…” She glanced at him. “Really bad stuff, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said. There was a long pause. 

“Does this driveway seem kinda long to you?” she asked.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “But this is a non-scary séance, right?”

“Yes,” she said. 

“I’ll bet I can scare you and you can’t scare me,” he said, smirking. 

“No way,” she said.

“Wanna put ten bucks on it?” Brock asked.

“Ten bucks,” she scoffed. He glanced at her.

“Too chicken?”

“Twenty bucks and the loser drives home,” Darcy said firmly.

“Deal,” he said.  
  


* * *

Brock looked at Darcy as they linked hands at the séance table. She’d been right: this wasn’t a scary-seeming event. It was a bunch of grandmas, moms, and daughters in Halloween sweaters and witchy hats and cat ear headbands; the most frightening thing so far was the eighty year old nonna who’d made an audible joke about pinching him. He was the only man present. They were sitting at a large, round table in a room full of Victorian knickknacks and china. He was fairly certain that this house was an antique store normally. Brock let his eyes move around the room. One woman gave him a beaming smile, then the dim lights in the room went off abruptly. “Ahh!” someone shrieked.

“Shh, Chrissy,” another voice said. People were giggling. 

“Scared?” Darcy whispered conspiratorially.

“Nope,” he said to her. “What about you, baby?”

“Baby?” Darcy echoed. Just then, a light flickered across the table. 

“Silence!” The medium had lit a match and was now lighting several small candles around her crystal ball. Fire hazard, Brock thought, mentally calculating the distance between them and the door and how he’d get Darcy out if the medium caught one of her long, flowy sleeves on fire. She’d introduced herself as Madame Magda. There was a lot of eyeliner involved in being spiritual, apparently. “Fellow seekers of the beyond!” she said now, gesturing. Her elaborate jewelry jangled. It was all he could do not to laugh. But that would piss off Darcy. He was really hoping Darcy’d agree to an actual date, it was how he’d ended up here in the first place. He glanced at her. Darcy was smiling in the dark. “I shall now call upon the spirits!” Magda said, closing her eyes. She repeated an old-fashioned sounding invocation to the other side. Several girls giggled. “The spirits demand and need the correct atmosphere!” Magda added, opening her eyes again.

“And a good spay and neuter program?” Brock whispered to Darcy. She’d given a woman in a black cat sweatshirt twenty bucks already.

“Shhh,” Darcy said. Across the table, Magda was talking about her spirit guide, an ancient Egyptian maid. Brock refrained from rolling his eyes and stole looks at Darcy instead.

“Poor Kephri”--Magda was describing the guide again-- “was abandoned by her lover, a terrible, fickle shepherd, so she is most interested in matters romantic--” Suddenly, Darcy’s hand gripped his tightly and she moaned. 

“Darcy?” he said. She moaned again and then started talking. Only it wasn’t anything that made sense.

“Mem-see-ohhhhhhhh--” Darcy said, eyes rolling back. 

“Shit,” Brock said. She was clenching his hand tightly. He leaned closer, alarmed.

“She is channeling Kephri,” the medium said. “What would you tell us, wise spirit?” Darcy opened her mouth for a moment, but no sound emerged. She started making odd sounds. The rest of the group stared, transfixed.

“Is this supposed to fucking happen?” Brock said, as she hissed and gurgled.

“Broooock Rummmmlowwwwww,” Darcy moaned. He stared. “Yoooooou--”

“What?” he said, as her chin tipped forward and she moaned again. 

“Yooooooou,” Darcy repeated, swaying. He supported her elbow.

“She means you!” Magda said.

“I got that,” Brock snapped, glancing briefly at the medium.

“Yooooou must,” she said slowly. “You must!”

“Must what?” he said urgently.

“Giiiiiiiiive the money,” Darcy groaned. “The money!”

“What money?” he said, as she moaned and rolled her neck.

“Twenty,” she whispered, eyelids twitching. “Twenty dolllllllars for the spay and neuterrrrrrrrr!” she said, then opened her eyes, grinning. “Pay up,” she said in a completely normal voice. “I scared you good. Give the twenty bucks to them.”

“You tricked me,” he said. “You little fu--” He only refrained from swearing because one of the moms cleared her throat.

“I still won,” Darcy said. Everyone looked relieved, except Magda. “Sorry,” Darcy told her. “But it was for a good cause.” Brock huffed, but reached for his wallet anyway. 

“Twenty bucks,” he told Magda. “For your Egyptian maid and the feral kittens.”

“Thank you,” Magda said haughtily. “Now, let us assume a more respectable atmosphere?” Her voice was frosty.

“Yes,” Darcy said.

“Sure,” Brock said, winking at the grandma.

* * *

“Wasn’t that fun?” Darcy said as they left. She passed him her keys. “You can drive.”

“Sure,” he said wryly.

“Oh, c’mon, you can’t be mad at me still. Everyone loved you! You were the most popular guy there,” she said.

“I was the only guy there,” Brock told her.

“But Magda was really impressed by your commitment to feral kittens,” Darcy said. She reached over and grabbed his hand. “Can we go somewhere else fun?”

“Somewhere else fun?” Brock asked, pretending to be more beleaguered than he was. “What hellish place are we going to now?”

“Just wait,” Darcy said.

"Where'd you get the ancient Egyptian stuff?" he wondered.

"I stole it from _The Mummy._ I love that movie," she said with a sigh.

* * *

Brock was looking at the diner menu when Darcy peered over the top of his, grinning. “What are you doing?” he said. She’d taken him to this retro diner. There were Halloween decorations everywhere.

“What kind of pie do you want?” Darcy asked.

“Uh,” he said, frowning. “Pie?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t eat pie,” she said, sinking back into the booth seat. “Or this date is over,” she muttered.

“This is a date?” Brock said, setting down the menu. 

“Yessssss,” Darcy drawled and wiggled her eyebrows. “So?” 

“Good,” he said. “I’m glad it’s a date, I mean.”

“Okay,” she said. She looked at her menu again. “You don’t like pie?” 

“I like it okay,” he said, studying his options: pumpkin, sweet potato, French silk...

“At least tell me you like the other kind of pie?” she said, voice more wry. The look she gave him was frankly naughty. She waited a beat. “Now you’re just blinking at me,” Darcy said.


End file.
